


a soft destruction takes root

by lookoutlovers



Series: winter prompts [2]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Prompt Fill, Proposals gone wrong, but thankfully so, cute shit in the snow, lucas after seeing eliott again: shit never mind, lucas: im over eliott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21607243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookoutlovers/pseuds/lookoutlovers
Summary: for the prompt:my SO proposed to me on christmas morning in front of my family and i said no because after seeing you again, i know it’s you that i want.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Series: winter prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553281
Comments: 19
Kudos: 266





	a soft destruction takes root

**Author's Note:**

> from this [winter writing prompts list.](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/post/189251006867/veronicabunchwrites-100-wintery-prompts-for-all)
> 
> also posted on my [tumblr](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/post/189477449357/could-you-do-78-for-the-winter-prompts-please) ✨
> 
> this wasn't supposed to end up being 7k but here we are. also, pls. don't come at me for any inaccuracies in south of france weather, it's all just a part of the dramatics. please enjoy!!! i love u all <3

_—December 2021_

“Pass the tape would you, babe,” Benji extends an arm. Lucas looks up from the pile of wrapping paper he’s drowning within on the floor, the remnants of a wild Christmas morning with his family and boyfriend of one year and three months.

Scraps of mismatched Christmas patterns blanket the worn hardwood floor of the same house Lucas grew up in, and it reminds him vividly of an untamed, yet tender childhood. From bruised knees off careless skateboarding with Yann, building secret hideouts and creating mythical universes with Eliott, right down to the apron his mother is wearing—a familiar deep red that clashes obnoxiously with the mauve of her dress in an endearing kind of way.

All of these things, the photos that line the walls and the rusty swing-set creaking with the wind in the backyard, everything that floods back to him when Lucas waves goodbye to the bustling streets of Paris and descends South for the holiday feels so largely the same, yet different, still.

Different, because one part of Lucas’ present has infiltrated its way into his past, recklessly trampling into the mayhem of it all and sheathing Lucas’ veins into a tight grip that makes his stomach churn.

That, being, Benji.

Lucas met Benji—a business major from _Lille_ , just after moving to Paris. Nineteen and jaded with heartache, tired of swimming in regret and hopelessly drowning within its ruthless waves, Benji had caught Lucas at the very tip of the mountain, at the very last second. And it’s good with Benji— _it is_. He’s sweet, he takes Lucas on fancy dates and it’s exactly what he had needed at the time to distract himself from a love sunken to the very bottom of the ocean bed.

If the way he comes home late from work most nights, or how he gets irritated by the most infinitesimal inconveniences, complains when Lucas goes out with the guys, or cancels on dates at the last minute, bothers Lucas, he doesn’t say it.

The truth is, that after meeting Benji it was easier to pretend his life back home didn’t exist, it was easier to supress the memories of painfully honest nights and broken hearts. Lucas can live in denial of what he’s left behind, and he only returns home when deemed absolutely necessary and he doesn’t poke at wounds that have been stitched with fine thread and wrapped until they turn blue.

And he doesn’t bring Benji home, either. The ones who have met Benji, the ones who have transferred into Lucas’ new life, are the ones who have made the trek to Paris to insert themselves there.

And things had been going well— _things worked_.

But then, one month ago Lucas’ mother had asked, w _hy don’t you bring Benjamin home for Christmas this year? He can meet the rest of the family!_ And for some reason, the very thought had been gravely unsettling to Lucas—of combining the main forces of his life, two ends of a broken wire sparking a chaos that feels far too raw to tamper with, still. Of introducing Benji to the people he once knew. The people he grew up with.

But above all, though, and it’s stupid, really, because it shouldn’t matter, not after all this time, but Lucas is terrified of introducing Benji to Eliott.

 _Why?_ Because two years and four months ago, Lucas broke Eliott’s heart. Lucas broke Eliott’s heart and his own, too, shattering into a million tiny pieces along with the aftershock.

_____

_—August 2019_

“I can’t do this, Eliott,” Lucas chokes out, then, swallowing thickly, because he can’t let the weakness that Eliott brings out in him take flight. He must stand his ground, be strong, for him, and for Eliott.

“What do you mean?” The way the look of sheer desperation on Eliott’s face seems so perfervid under the golden hue of streetlamps forces Lucas to divert his gaze to the pavement. “ _Lucas_ ,” Eliott whimpers when Lucas provides no explanation—not necessarily because he doesn’t have one, but because he’s certain if he tries to speak the lump in his throat may just unfurl into an uncontrollable spluttering mess _._

“You don’t feel the same? Is that it?” Eliott speaks again, and it’s August, yet, the night feels so cold, its nimble fingers grip around Lucas’ limbs in a tight hold and he can’t _breathe_ , can’t _think_. “You don’t love me.”

Lucas clenches his eyes shut, inhales sharply through his nose, and then exhales. It’s a lot shakier than he’d ever like to admit.

The thing is, he does. He loves Eliott with every fibre of his being. Lucas loves Eliott like the sun loves the moon, like the birds love the sky, like the infant leaves of spring love the sun’s warmth.

But the sun and moon rarely collide, and birds must migrate in the winter in order to survive, and leaves always wilt away, eventually.

Lucas _can’t_ love Eliott.

Lucas can’t love Eliott because in two days Eliott moves to New York for college while Lucas still has one year of high school left, and it would be selfish to force him to wait. It would be unfair to make Eliott keep a piece of his life back in their little town in the South of France that—when he meets someone better, someone worth more—he’ll want to shed.

Lucas can’t love Eliott because it’s just easier to let him go, because it will hurt less to leave Lucas’ heart right here in between the cracks of this damp pavement, rather than to stretch it between four thousand miles until it rips in two.

It’s selfish, Lucas is aware of that. But he’s thinking of Eliott, too, surprisingly. Lucas is no psychic, but he sees how this ends, he sees the flaws in starting a relationship just two days before Eliott flies to the other side of the world. He sees longing and missing to the point of insanity, he sees broken communication and mistrust and that’s not good, isn’t healthy at the youth of something that should spark nothing less of joy.

So. Yes, selfishly, Lucas doesn’t want to let that happen.

Thus, he compels himself to open his eyes, because if he’s going to do this, to crush both of their hearts in the very palm of his hand, he may as well have the decency and the courage to look Eliott in the eye as he does it. Then, he takes a deep breath, and he says, “I’m sorry.” Eliott’s face crumbles. “I don’t,” Lucas finishes, despite the screaming in his head that tells him this is wrong, _this is all so wrong_ and _what are you doing?_

They’re both unashamedly crying at this stage, tears etching painful tracks down their cheeks and blurring the lines of the shadows that create the night.

Eliott shakes his head, “I’ve completely fucked us up now, haven’t I?”

And all Lucas wants to do it reach out, pull Eliott into his arms and tell him that, _no_ , he couldn’t possibly do anything to taint what they have because he’s all kinds of crazy perfect and it’s Lucas that’s destroyed and wrecked and ruined this.

But, again, he can’t.

“Don’t say that, Eliott,” and when Eliott only cries harder he says, “Hey, listen to me, okay? This isn’t your fault. We’ll be okay. I promise, _we’ll be okay_.”

Lucas hopes Eliott can dissemble his words and piece together their unspoken meaning, and he prays that, one day, Eliott will understand that letting him go is the hardest thing Lucas has ever done.

_____

Lucas still remembers that night in a soft painful haze—the night everything changed.

The night that dismantled what they had and tore it down beyond repair. The night that’s etched in contrite and painted with a heartache that never seems to go away, no matter what Lucas tells himself. The night that weaves its way into his dreams while he sleeps, like a tide lapping at the sea shore against the glare of the moon. The night that stole everything from him.

The night Lucas last spoke to Eliott.

_____

Lucas finds the tape and reaches it up to Benji, who is balancing on the arm of the sofa to fix a fallen string of tinsel.

“Here.”

 _It kind of feels like you’re hiding me away,_ Ben always seems to complain. _You don’t want me to meet your family or your childhood friends, is that it? Is it that you’re embarrassed of me?_

In which Lucas would assure him, head shakes frantic and eyes wide because the thought of losing someone else like that is the most terrifying thing in the world. _No,_ he would say, _I love you, of course not, it’s just complicated._

It is, complicated. It’s complicated when one of the people your boyfriend wants to meet is the person you once would have given the world to, who you would have torn down mountains for, ran through fire for, your first thought and your very last every morning and night.

Your first love.

It’s petrifying, really, when the last time you saw that person was standing out by their front lawn telling them you don’t love them, when actually, they had been your entire world and more.

But Lucas’ mother has always told him that love is a little like a rose bush—to get to the sweet bloom, first you must brave the sharpness of thorns that scrape at your hands. On the surface things may appear blissful, happy, but down underneath, just beyond the pretty blossom it can get dark and painful and the thorns that stick out like thieves can hurt and puncture your heart.

She tells him that a relationship is a bit like the sky—how it comes with its default clear blue but also with a foreboding black that revels off the unknown. How its mood is unforeseeable and often inexplicable, but we mustn’t question it because nothing is perfect and that’s the way things go. Relationships are all about compromise, we must accept that with good comes bad, and in bad we must remember that the good will eventually resurface from the clouds, otherwise, we would drive ourselves insane.

Lucas thinks that’s maybe why she’s stayed with his father all these years despite their blatant differences.

It should be fine, because Lucas is over Eliott, now, it’s been just over two years and he’s with Benji and things are good. _It is fine._

So, Lucas sits on the floor of his family home and waits for the guests his mother has invited to arrive for Christmas lunch, and despite the comfort he should find in the presence of his long-term boyfriend in the anticipatory sea of dread, the only thing that’s keeping him from fleeing several countries away, currently, stupidly, is the fuzzy material of his new Christmas socks.

______

People begin to flood in around noon. Various extended family members along with family friends disperse themselves throughout the house, some Lucas sees often, others he hasn’t seen in years.

For a while, the morning is primarily uneventful.

He introduces Benji to his aunt Carolina, who dotes over them for an insufferable ten minutes, “You both look so adorable together! _Mes chéris_!” she gushes. Lucas doesn’t understand why the comment sits so uncomfortably in his stomach like it doesn’t belong there. He doesn’t want to think about it.

“We are,” Benji grins, delighted, “aren’t we?”

If Lucas’ nod comes across as a little stilted, nobody mentions it.

They fall into a conversation about business, taxes or something Lucas doesn’t understand, with his cousins, Gabriel and Hugo. And while Benji seems to find it the most riveting thing to happen all morning, all Lucas can do is stare at the small patch of paint that’s beginning to peel off the living room wall, listless, something clawing at his skin that he can’t define.

One of Lucas’ uncles corners them about rent prices in Paris, he sees Benji laughing with his mother’s friend, Beatrice, then, a little later, in a deep conversation with his Father that Lucas turns a blind eye to because he really isn’t in the mood for whatever it is, right now.

And he can’t help but think there is something off about the way Benji looks here, in Lucas’ home talking with his family, a little out of place like he’s been plucked from another world and stuck clumsily right into this one.

He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on the thought for very long.

Then, like a rapture of turbulence, three electric sparks in a void of hell, voices ricocheting off every wall of the house as they enter.

Yann, Arthur and Basile greet Lucas in an ensemble of convoluted limbs. That much isn’t so daunting, since all three boys have also moved to the city and remained durable constants in Lucas’ disaster of a life.

“Lulu!” Basile is the first to pull away, a horrendous green, woollen Christmas jumper on that has actual functional bells attached to it. “Merry Christmas! Where’s your Christmas jumper, then? I thought we all agreed on the dress code.” He holds his arms out to flaunt his ridiculous attire, offended glances thrown at both Yann and Arthur, neither of whom seem to have gotten the memo, either.

“There was no dress code, dude,” Arthur says, flatly. “You look ridiculous. Look at this.” He fiddles with one of Basile’s little jumper bells, its jingle evoking a laugh out of both Lucas and Yann, who sends Lucas a warm smile.

“How are you?”

Lucas chuckles, “Since I last saw you two days ago? Average.”

While he tries to play it off as nonsensical wit, he thinks Yann can maybe sense that, really, there is a lot more truth to it that Lucas would ever admit out loud.

They catch up some more, Arthur tells them about his disastrous journey home, Yann asks whether Lucas’ mother liked the present he had sent her, in which Lucas rolls his eyes and mutters, _more than mine, by the looks of it, yes_. Basile whines some more about the lack of Christmas jumpers in the room, then, slowly, their laughter tapers off when Benji returns from the kitchen with a glass of red wine in hand, one by one falling silent as they catch onto his presence.

“Benji!” Basile claps him on the back, “My man!”

Benji nods curtly, “Basile,” and then, eyes scanning the group, almost like it’s been choreographed, “Yann, Arthur.”

The atmosphere twists into something sour, uncomfortable. The light-heartedness that had once been lingering shifts to hard set shoulders and tight-lipped smiles that have no intent behind them whatsoever.

And you see, Lucas knows his friends don’t approve of Benji, and he knows Benji isn’t too fond of them, either.

Lucas tries to push it down, the way Yann says Lucas hasn’t really been the same since meeting Benji, brushes it off when Arthur complains about him bailing on plans to stay home with Benji, only rolls his eyes when Basile states that anyone who wears a suit to a party can’t be trusted and grunts noncommittedly when Mika says his head is going to be too large to fit into the flat, soon enough, if he keeps going on champagne reception dates in pretentious hotels and, _what then, Lucas? Are you going to go live out on the streets?_

In the end, what his friends think hadn’t really mattered to Lucas, because he was always going to stick with Benji, with that small piece of stability he’s found deep within the streets of Paris. Or that’s what he tells himself, anyway.

Basile then decides, that, despite it being evident how awkward they all feel, to pick up the conversation. He asks Benji about his work, another bold mistake. It’s tense, the way Benji speaks to condescend.

Lucas waits an appropriate two minutes, as to not appear too obvious, too much like he’s slowly dying inside, before excusing himself to the bathroom.

Inside the bathroom, the air is a little cooler, with the window propped open and there being no crowds. Lucas leans his hands against the sink, tilting his head back slightly, studying his own reflection in the mirror. Notes how tired his eyes look, how his skin has paled during the winter months, tries not to think of the fact that there is something still clawing at his skin that makes him want to curl up into a ball and never leave this room. Attempts to steady his breaths that have begun to fumble out in harsh interludes, palms sweaty even against the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink.

Then, when the moment passes, Lucas splashes some cold water over his face, pats it dry with a towel and slips back into the hallway.

When Lucas looks up to a tall figure, he thinks maybe, for a second, Benji has followed him here to see if he’s doing okay, ask why he’s been so quiet, lately. However, what he isn’t expecting to see, standing in the shadows of his narrow hallway, is Eliott.

“Hi,” Lucas breathes out impulsively, a little stupidly. And, it’s pathetic, really, that two fucking years have gone by, yet all he can manage is, _hi_.

But all semblance of rational words get caught in his throat because he hopelessly thinks of how Eliott still looks as beautiful as he did two years ago. And he’s here, in Lucas’ house on Christmas morning in the same denim jacket Lucas helped him stitch flower embroidery to when they were teenagers and Lucas feels like he’s been flung out to sea with no lifeboat to grab onto.

Eliott stares back a little bewilderedly, like he hadn’t expected to see Lucas here in his own home. “Hey,” he murmurs, then, scuffing his trainers against the worn carpet beneath them. “Your mother invited my parents, and me, sorry if it’s weird.”

Then it’s like, everything comes flooding back in a harsh tidal wave of vivid memories, all of which should be the happiest memories of Lucas’ teenage years, only now they’re tarnished with hurt and regret. And Lucas can’t help but think that the world was definitely a brighter place two years ago, back when Eliott’s shoulders sat higher and Lucas’ chest didn’t ache so much.

“It’s not weird,” Lucas chokes out, a soft panic settling in his bones and in his chest when Eliott looks at him with wide eyes. Any other words unable to take flight when he notices that Eliott looks just as taken aback as Lucas himself feels.

“You sure? It has been two years.”

Eliott seems apprehensive, nervous. But there’s also a hint of bite to his words, that unspoken, _you said we would be okay but then you never called. You promised things wouldn’t change and they did._

It makes sense. For him to hate Lucas for that, for tearing them apart.

Lucas looks to the floor, a familiar pool of guilt settling deep into his stomach and churning with every slight movement he makes.

“I never meant for that to happen,” Lucas whispers.

In the distance, Lucas can hear the soft strum of _Fairy Tale of New York_ playing _._ It’s mocking, almost, how Christmas should be a day of cheer, yet all Lucas feels is the constant lump in his throat.

“You know,” Eliott exhales, “I was so mad at you, in the beginning. I couldn’t understand why you’d make that promise knowing you weren’t going to keep it. But then I realised that I can’t be mad at you, not for that. Not for how you feel, or how you don’t feel.”

Lucas wishes, in a fucked-up kind of way, that Eliott _was_ mad at him. He thinks it would be easier than this, than the heart-rending way Eliott’s eyes glaze over when he looks at Lucas as though he isn’t even worth wasting that excess energy on.

It’s devastating, in all honesty, to think that once Eliott had looked at Lucas and seen the world, but now he sees nothing, completely void of all emotion. Even in a heart that holds nothing but compassion for all things, Lucas has managed to, somehow, miraculously, cause a patch of grey to leak in. Which is—it’s unfitting, for someone as lovely as Eliott to hold that inside of himself, but Lucas did that, he fucked everything up.

And he _could_ just say it, he could tell Eliott right now that it was all a mistake and that he did feel the same. But there is something still living within Lucas that holds him back. It’s something that’s hard to define, something unsettling, but its main component is fear, and it’s dark, and he doesn’t know how to find his way out.

Instead he says, “How have you been?” Because although Lucas had been halfway expecting to see Eliott today, he had not been prepared for their first interaction of two years to be one so confrontational. But that’s just Lucas’ problem, then, he supposes, for thinking he can just slip away from the consequences like smoke to air.

Although, maybe he’s also been aching to know if these two years have been kind to Eliott in a way that Lucas hasn’t. Maybe, it’s been niggling at Lucas to find out if Eliott has met any new or interesting people, how his course is going, has he been drawing much, still? Does he live with flatmates? Are they nice, too loud, secluded? Does he still drink his coffee with an overload of caramel syrup like he always did, back home? And, then, just in general, is he happy?

Eliott seems thrown by the question, how out of place it is, most likely.

“Uhm,” he mutters, “Yeah. Fine, I guess. Good.” Then, licking his lips, slowly, as if in thought, he asks, “And you?”

Lucas isn’t sure if he asks because, like Lucas, he wants to know, or if it’s because he feels inclined to, because it’s the polite thing to do.

Shrugging, Lucas mumbles, “Same. Fine, just.”

Eliott lets out a low chuckle, “Just?”

For a few moments, they just smile at each other, small, but there. And weirdly, it’s enough—or, well, more than the cold shoulder Lucas had expected, at least.

Lucas hums, is about to say something else—he isn’t entirely sure what, maybe ask about New York, specifically, or any life changes in general, mutter something ridiculously pathetic and unfair like, _I miss you_. But there’s a light clearing of a throat behind them, and Lucas’ uncle is asking if they’re waiting on the bathroom, and Eliott mumbles, _I am_ , stepping around Lucas swiftly and closing himself inside.

And he’s gone.

Lucas returns to the living room to find Benji has now moved back to speaking with Gabriel and Hugo, and he thinks that’s for the best. And, if when he sits down next to Yann, anyone notices how badly his hands are shaking, it isn’t mentioned.

_____

It happens like this, you see, and admittedly, when Lucas came home this Christmas, he had not planned for any fanfare whatsoever.

He had in his mind Christmas movies with his parents, heading out to a local bar for drinks with his school friends, and, at the worst, introducing Benji to some self-asserting family members.

What Lucas hadn’t been expecting, in the slightest, is, this.

This, as in, Benji hushing the chatter that pours into the living room—the room that’s filled with around fifteen people, and he says, “Can I get everyone’s attention for a second? Yeah, thank you. Thanks.”

And he’s standing from the sofa, pulling Lucas up with him, and Lucas is so confused he lets himself get dragged into the middle of the room, right by the glimmering Christmas tree. For a fleeting second, Lucas locks eyes with Eliott, who had entered the living room along with Imane, another old school friend, two minutes ago. He thinks he sees something there, reflecting off the baffle in Lucas’ own eyes. It’s inquisitive, perhaps, searching.

Then, out of nowhere, Benji is falling to one knee, a well-practiced speech about love and journeys and commitment and forever falling from his lips. And Lucas feels his entire world collapse around him in a turbulence of wreckage when he asks, “Lucas, will you marry me?”

He hears the gasps that spill into the room, sees how the guests who had been dotted around other spots in the house migrate towards the doorway to peer in. It feels as though he’s been caught under a headlight, blinking eyes watching, waiting, the weight of the world’s problems flung into his arms and he’s being told, _fix this, do something about it._ It’s a tremendous mass that Lucas’ muddle of a brain can’t even begin to wade through right now.

“I—” Lucas gapes, feeling the obtrusive stares of every single person in the room burn right through him.

Benji is looking up at him, a grin of expectancy on his face and Lucas feels like he’s been pushed off the edge of a mountain as his stomach drops and his breath comes to a complete standstill.

“Well,” Benji laughs lowly, “say something.” Lucas can vaguely detect the slight nervousness that’s creeping its way into his words now, and he’s acutely aware of how his family and friends are still sitting on the edge of their seats, unease spilling into the room like tumbling waves against rocks with every second that goes by with no response.

And everything feels so _wrong._ This shouldn’t be a moment tainted with hesitance, it should be a moment that grips Lucas’ heart tenderly, not forcefully. This should be a moment Lucas looks back on for the rest of his life that will invoke love and warmth and intimacy. This moment, right now, here, should be the happiest moment of his life. Yet, all he feels as he looks down at the man kneeling in front of him, is a dread so heavy it sits in his stomach like gasoline just waiting to be set alight.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Lucas catches onto some shuffling by the doorway, and he turns to see someone pushing their way through the small crowd that’s gathered there.

It’s Eliott, mumbling out small _excuse me’s,_ as his figure descends further and further out of the room, and Lucas realises, in a moment of panic, that he’s leaving. Eliott is leaving, and Lucas lets out a choked-up sob that he didn’t even notice had been building up in the back of his throat.

“Lucas?”

Benji’s voice pulls Lucas out of his trance at the very same second the front door slams shut. And it’s almost as though he’s been trapped along with the force of it, the latch clicking and telling him, _the love of your life is proposing to you, why are you not saying anything? Why can’t you move?_

Lucas compels himself to tear his gaze away from where Eliott had once been standing. Now, Benji’s brows are knitted together in what could be passed off as concern, but Lucas knows it’s just annoyance.

He’s embarrassed that Lucas has left him hanging for so long.

And in that very moment, with all eyes on him, with Benji’s arm still extended, thrusting a diamond ring in his face and his heart pounding a rhythm so rapidly in his chest it reverberates throughout his entire body, something clicks.

Lucas asks himself, _is this what I want,_ _really?_ At the age of twenty-one, terrifyingly, he thinks, _I’m far too young to get married._

Something clicks and Lucas realises, _I’m hesitating because this isn’t what I want._ Lucas looks at Benji and he thinks, _you aren’t the love of my life._ Then his mind drifts to Eliott, because, in all painful honesty, when does it not? And he thinks of all the time he’s lost, all the years he’s wasted pretending he was doing what was best for everyone, when really, he had been tending to a wound that was never destined to heal all on its own in the first place.

Lucas’ mind drifts to Eliott, and he realises, _it’s him that I’m in love with._ And he thinks, a little foolishly perhaps, _Eliott is running, so, maybe—_

“I’m sorry,” Lucas blurts. The words are resounding in the awkward silence that’s since settled over the room. He lets out a shaky breath, “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” The hurt is evident in Benji’s voice, but Lucas thinks he maybe should have seen this coming, back when the rose-tinted glass of their relationship fizzled to an ominous grey.

“I mean I can’t marry you.”

Benji finally stands, hand that’s clasping the ring falling loosely at his side. “It’s too soon? That’s okay, yeah? We can—”

Lucas interjects with a firm shake of his head, “No, I mean I can’t do _this_ ,” he gestures a hand between them, “Us.”

Benji’s face falls, then, and even under the golden glow of Christmas lights it looks worryingly pale. “Don’t say that,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry.”

The thing is, despite his sudden, as some would put it, epiphany, Lucas _is_ sorry. He never should have allowed this thing with Benji to stretch on for so long, just because he was afraid of being alone. He should have ended it the second the tiny fragments of doubt in his mind spiralled into a stormy rage of panic.

But Lucas _knows_ now, he knows what he needs to do, for once in his life he has do the right thing.

So, with one last apologetic look, he turns, and he shoulders his way through the gathering in the living room and into the hallway. And, when Yann throws him a subtle smile and a reassuring nod in passing, it only solidifies his decision.

 _This is what I need to do,_ replays over and over in his head, now loud, more prominent than ever.

“You’re really just going to walk out on me like this?” he hears Benji yell as he twists the front door handle, and again, as he steps out into the December chill, “If you leave right now that’s it, we’re finished. There’s no going back!”

Lucas thinks of how, if there was any resolve behind Benji’s threats in the slightest, he would have come after Lucas. But, he doesn’t.

So. Lucas lets the door snap shut behind him. And he runs.

He runs like he’s never ran before, down his driveway and a left up the street, and he has no idea which direction Eliott even went in, but all he knows is that he needs to find him more than he needs air.

It’s snowing, which, on any other day, would feel magical—in the south of France, it’s practically unheard of—but right now, when urgency is rushing through Lucas’ bones like it’s all his body is surviving upon, the mush that his sneakers sink into only acts as a hinderance to his journey.

Lucas runs as darkness is just beginning to overcome the sky, and the snow falls in wet clumps, gushing recklessly onto his numb skin. It seems fitting, in a sense, how he feels nothing outwardly, how he’s felt for Benji all these months, yet, inside of him there’s a wildfire of emotions raging an inferno so scorching hot it fuels his legs to keep moving, keep running. All because he needs to find Eliott and he’s _burning_ with it.

And then, a dark blur amid the pale blizzard, just at the corner of the street that connects to Eliott’s childhood home, Lucas sees him. Shoulders hunched to block out the cold from his ears and his denim jacket three shaders darker blue from the thickness of snow, Lucas sees Eliott and all he can do is force his legs to move faster.

“Eliott!” Lucas pants, lungs inhaling an ice-cold gust of air that causes him to double over with a heave. Eliott doesn’t seem to hear him over the howling wind, so, Lucas stands taller as, louder this time, he yells, “Eliott!”

When Eliott eventually stops and turns, Lucas sees how confusion settles over his face, how he appears a little bit surprised even through the sporadic gaps in the downfall.

Lucas gathers enough energy within himself to jog the rest of the distance between them until he’s standing nearer but not completely close to Eliott.

“Lucas? What are you doing?” Eliott looks at him all concerned. “It’s like, zero degrees out, where’s your coat?”

Lucas shakes his head, breaths still tumbling out frantically from his sprint.

“I don’t know. I just—” a heavy sigh, a spluttering cough, “ _I’m sorry_.”

It feels like, lately, all Lucas has been saying is sorry. But what else does he say, when he doesn’t know where to start, when all he keeps doing is fucking things up, when the love of his life has been here the entire time, a thousand miles away but still right in front of him, and all Lucas has done is push him away and turn his back?

Eliott must sense Lucas inner turmoil, as he smiles sadly, kind, sweet, like Eliott always is. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Lucas shakes his head, and thinks, _it really is not okay._ “Why did you leave?” he asks, it’s not entirely what he had planned to say, but it’s out there, now, so he rolls with it.

“What?”

“Why did you run off, back there?”

Eliott’s eyes fall to the ground, it’s a little demoralising, how their icy blue-grey slip out of sight behind his pale eyelids. “You know why,” he tells Lucas.

Lucas huffs, “ _Tell me_.” Desperation curling in his bones like catastrophic waves at this point because he _needs_ Eliott to say it, he needs to be certain that this is what he thinks it is.

When Eliott’s gaze flits back up, his eyes carry a pain that causes a sharp pang to rage deep in Lucas’ chest, he looks as though he wants to cry, to yell at Lucas and say, _why are you making me do this? Why do you want to watch me go through it all over again?_

But Lucas isn’t going to allow Eliott to back away, to just run off like that and hide in the shadows of what they could be.

“Look, Lucas,” Eliott starts when he realises Lucas is here to stand his ground. “I get it, okay? You’re happy with Benji and it’s what you deserve, _it is_. You deserve to be happy and to have someone who can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You can’t control how you feel, and I try, you know? to pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. But it _does_ , fuck.” He runs a stressed hand through his damp hair. “And maybe it was selfish of me to run out like that, but it’s hard to watch something like that unfold. It’s hard to watch you with someone else, someone that’s not me and yeah, that is selfish. I know it is—"

And then—

“Fuck sake, Eliott,” Lucas cuts into Eliott’s rambling like a knife to ice, “I said no!” And then, again, but softer, “I said no.”

_Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand that it’s only ever been you that I want?_

Eliott’s entire body visibly freezes up, and it’s not because of the snow gushing down on them at such an absurd rate Lucas thinks it almost feels like something out of a ridiculously plotted rom-com.

“Lucas,” he breathes, “why did you come after me?”

Lucas takes one small step forwards, feet crunching within the snow, daring, almost. “Do you remember that night you told me you loved me?”

Eliott nods slowly, eyes downcast, lips pulled out thin in a way that says, _how could I forget?_

“I told you I didn’t feel the same, that I didn’t love you back.”

Eliott runs an exasperated hand over his face. “Why are you telling me this?” he sighs, “I know, yeah? I know you don’t feel the same. I fucking know that. You don’t need to remind me. It’s why you never called after I left, it’s why we—” His voice cracks, and the sound rips into every bone in Lucas’ body, and it _aches_. “It’s why we haven’t seen each other in _two years_ , shit, Lucas. _I know_.”

“Would you let me finish?” Lucas whines, another step forward.

Eliott folds his arms over his chest and, in a way, it almost feels like he’s putting on an armour, building up a guard because they’ve been here before, on this same street, having this same conversation about love and it has only ever ended in heartache. Only, this time, this time Lucas isn’t so afraid. This time Lucas is putting his heart out there for Eliott to take and he doesn’t give a damn where it ends up as long as it’s with him.

“I lied. That night, I lied.”

A soft confusion settles over Eliott’s features, one of disbelief and wariness, “What?” he asks. Lucas thinks the brick wall he’s having to kick his way through is only deserving, for how he’s handled Eliott’s heart—Eliott’s lovely, amazing, pure heart—as carelessly as he has.

“I thought it would be easier that way, you know,” Lucas explains, voice raw. “You were leaving, and I didn’t know when you would come home. I didn’t want to hold you back—from meeting someone else, in New York, someone better. I don’t know, Eliott. I thought I was happy with Benji, but seeing you again, I know it’s you that I want.” He takes another tentative step forward, a sigh of relief spilling into the air around them as Eliott’s arms drop from his chest. “And I’m sorry I never called like I promised, I’m sorry I let us drift apart, I’m sorry I never told you how I really feel, for being selfish. Just know, that letting you walk away without telling you that years ago, is the biggest fucking regret of my life, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Eliott swallows, eyes wide as they search Lucas’ face with an intensity that sets Lucas’ skin ablaze even amid a freezing cold snowstorm.

“What are you saying?” he murmurs, voice small, scared of drowning in another heartbreak.

Lucas gets it, it’s his own doing. But he’s here to make it right again.

“I’m saying that I’m in love with you.”

And, so. There it is, laid out raw and honest, Lucas’ words intertwine with the cold snowflakes that have now relaxed into a gentle flutter, spilling into the warm tears that dry just as quickly as they fall to their cheeks in the winter chill.

And for the first time in two years, Lucas feels like he can breathe again.

“I loved you back then, and I loved you throughout the two years we spent apart. And now, I love you now. Always, Eli.”

Eliott chokes out a sob, “The whole time?”

Lucas nods. “ _Always_.”

Always. Then, there, here, now. _Always._

“I should be so mad at you right now,” Eliott mutters.

Lucas twists his fingers together, shame settling under his skin, “It’s okay, if you are. I understand.”

Eliott takes a few moments to think, lips pursed in thought, then shakes his head, takes the last step forwards that Lucas hadn’t got to yet, and whispers, “I’m not mad, I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.”

Lucas tilts his head to the side, his eyes automatically falling shut when Eliott brushes away the damp hair that has fallen messily over Lucas’ eyes. He cradles Lucas face with both hands, then, and it prompts Lucas to look at him again. His hands are cold against Lucas’ frozen cheeks, but it’s comforting nonetheless.

“I love you, Lucas,” Eliott says, “But I think you already knew that.” Lucas’ heart picks up speed, and it’s as though nothing matters but the soft glint in Eliott’s eyes and the solid pressure of his fingers pressing into Lucas’ cheeks.

“And, you know,” Eliott sniffs, hands falling away as he wipes his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket, chuckling lightly, “I would kiss you right now, only I think you have some unfinished business with Benji that you should probably sort out, first.”

Lucas sighs, _right, Benji._

“Yeah.”

Eliott glances to the side a little nervously, and then, with a small smile, “Hug?”

And Lucas hadn’t realised how badly he had been aching to hear Eliott say that, to offer just one simple gesture. But right now, he knows it’s everything and all he has ever needed.

“Please,” he breathes out.

They crash into one another like the force of comets and asteroids colliding within a star-spangled galaxy. Eliott’s arms find their way around Lucas’ shoulders, pulling him into his chest so tightly there’s barely room enough to breathe. Lucas grips onto Eliott’s waist, hugging his middle as though he’s the only anchor left on a sinking ship.

And it feels like coming home, figuratively, literally. Lucas tries to link into every point of contact, how their tears mesh with the melted snowflakes on their clothing, the scratchiness of Eliott’s denim jacket against his cheek, the way Eliott’s hand is clenching onto the excess shoulder material of Lucas’ sweater, the soft hair that tickles his skin, the warm press of Eliott’s lips at the dip where Lucas’ shoulder meets his neck.

Then, when Eliott pulls away, just enough so that they can see each other but not so they aren’t still entirely tangled around one another, Lucas lets their foreheads rest together. Their breath is pale against the numbing air, so close it’s still warm by the time it ghosts over their skin. Eliott blinks, eyelashes fluttering softly against the dusty illusions of light that the white snow casts upon them.

Snowflakes sit lightly on Eliott lashes as he smiles, and Lucas can’t help but think it’s the most breathtakingly beautiful sight he has ever seen. His breath shudders at the thought, and then he’s whispering a firm, “ _Fuck it_.”

And he crashes their lips together.

Lucas kisses Eliott like it’s the last thing he will ever do, fervently, frantically, pouring his entire hearts worth of passion into it. Eliott’s confusion is only fleeting, as soon enough he’s cupping Lucas’ face and kissing back with just as much force if not more.

In truth, Lucas still has so much to work through—ending things with Benji properly being the foremost—but right now, standing in here the snow on Christmas day with the only person he’s ever really loved, with the only one who’s ever fucking mattered, Lucas can’t even find it in himself to care.

The warmth that starts off at their lips and travels under their skin, weaving its way into their bones and igniting a flame like that of pyrotechnics is electrifying. It’s two years of longing to fall into each other’s arms, two years of shattered hearts and pushing away and holding back to now, to letting go and to falling in love as gracefully as the sky releases the gentle snowfall around them.

Eliott’s lips are soft, and he does a thing with his tongue that has Lucas gasping into his mouth, knuckles turning white as they grip onto the sides of Eliott’s jacket. And, as they kiss, in his foggy brain, Lucas thinks this must be what it feels like to be trapped within a pretty snow globe, like the one his grandmother used to keep on her bookshelf. How the flakes would swirl in aimless currents every time a small curious Lucas would shake the glass, eyes tracking every movement in complete awe as he watched the tiny plastic people moulded into the middle thinking, _I wish that was me, in there._

Now, in a way, it kind of is like that.

“By the way,” Eliott mumbles when their lips eventually part, his voice deep, scratchy from the cold and Lucas’ lips. “I didn’t meet one single person in New York who is as amazing as you are.”

Lucas nuzzles his nose against Eliott’s cheek, seeking that little sliver of warmth. “Not one?”

Eliott shakes his head assertively, “None.”

Curling his fingers into the hair at the nape of Eliott’s neck, Lucas lets out a sigh so relieved it loosens every tight muscle in his body and leaves his legs feeling like jelly, like he could melt right into Eliott’s arms like ice gone to water and Eliott would catch him all. “Good,” Lucas says, because now he can, and he’s not afraid to anymore.

Because Eliott is his, now, and he is Eliott’s. And maybe, Lucas thinks distantly—as Eliott kisses the cold from his lips once more, despite the distance and the time and all the heartache—maybe they’ve been each other’s all along.

He thinks that’s maybe a little magical, like the kind of magic that only happens on Christmas, under the stars, enveloped in snow, high off each other’s lips. Lucas thinks the cold that’s bound to surface after this is every bit worth it and more.

He thinks he’s in love, and that, this time, he’s finally got it right. And that’s all that matters, really.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! let me know what u think and also come say hi on tumblr - [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/) or send me more [wintery prompts](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/post/189251006867/veronicabunchwrites-100-wintery-prompts-for-all) ❄️✨
> 
> (disclaimer: i do not condone cheating, if this counts?? it's debatable. this is purely fiction!!! it just happened don’t mess with the power of soulmates!!!)


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